


Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

by I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee



Series: Swan Song [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Eskel is in like 3 chapters, Geralt Whump, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion Go To The Coast, Geraskier, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, MCD, Major character death - Freeform, Memory Loss, Mind the Tags, Minor Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Mourning, Old Jaskier | Dandelion, Suicidal Thoughts, at least as happy as it could possibly be with the themes, more warnings at the beginnign of chapters, seriously, so are Lambert and Coen, yennefer briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee/pseuds/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee
Summary: “Don’t tell Yennefer, but I know I can’t hide the crow’s feet any longer,” Jaskier continued, as though the lines weren’t witnesses of years spent smiling until his eyes crinkled. “I am not like I used to be.”“Your eyes are still blue.”Jaskier was quiet for a moment, just looking at Geralt, thinking, searching. “Most people’s eyes become blue when they get old.” There was something in his smile that seemed not quite wrong, but…wistful. “Your eyes will stay golden. Always young.”or: When Jaskier gets too old to accompany Geralt on his hunts, they retire to the coast. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's beautiful and sometimes it's devestating. But it is always, always worth it.Previously a one-shot called "To rest their weary wings"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Swan Song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101497
Comments: 32
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the most amazing Applepower! This story would have been very different if it wasn't for you. And by different I mean it would have been like 10k of pure angst and hurt. Not a single nice thing in sight. So thank you so much, friend, for reminding me that there are wonderful parts to watching someone grow old. Your support means the world to me <3
> 
> the chapters at the beginning are kind of short, they will get longer later on.

Something was changing. Geralt wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew it was there. Knew it like he had always known when the first snow would fall and drive him from Jaskier’s side for the winter. There was no snow now and it had been decades since they had spent their winters apart. So why did Geralt feel like there was something changing between them? 

He wanted to stay with Jaskier for as long as he would let him. The gods knew, there was nothing he wanted more than to stay. Jaskier wanted the same. He said so often enough. With words. With the way, he would cling to Geralt’s arm and point out the shapes of the clouds or some pretty flowers along the path to make his days less grey. As if any day with Jaskier could be grey. He was colour, he was sunshine and laughter. 

And he was Geralt’s. Jaskier had said so, declared it to the crowds he was singing to, sighed it in the quiet morning hours, when he woke up with Geralt’s arms around him, when the nightingale’s song was replaced by the lark’s. He said it without words, when he took Geralt’s hand and asked him once more to go to the coast with him. And Geralt told him he was Jaskier’s, when he let Jaskier wrap his arms around him from behind, as they rode Roach until finally they dismounted and felt sand beneath their feet. 

Oakwood was a quiet village; it had nothing of the exuberance of Novigrad or the other bustling cities Jaskier always favoured for his performances. Neither did it have many monsters, apart from the occasional siren troubling the waters when a fishing boat drifted too far. 

Oakwood was almost insignificant in how calm and ordinary it was. And yet, when Jaskier had tentatively asked Geralt to come here, there had been an unspoken weight to his words. A weight that had become heavier with every step they had taken and that had finally seemed to lift when Jaskier had stood on the seashore, breathing in the salty air with closed eyes. For a sweet moment, Jaskier had looked truly happy. 

Slowly, the look had faded into calm determination. Not immediately. Not for days. But by now, it was unmistakable. 

Something was changing. And this thing was Jaskier.

He was still himself, still brightening at the prospect of a story, still looking at Geralt with that gleam in his eyes, still bringing happiness to people with his tales of adventure. Still making Geralt’s chest warm with every smile he sent his way. 

And yet. There was something missing. Though the way Jaskier spoke of adventure still held that wonder he had shown years ago, he had slowly pulled away from them. No longer did he insist on accompanying Geralt on his hunts. No longer was he ready to climb mountains and trudge through moors to seek the next thrill. Instead he spent the time when Geralt was fulfilling a contract performing in taverns. 

Geralt could almost pretend that it was like it had been at the beginning of their acquaintance, when Jaskier had a hunger for adventure, but the memory of the elves’ knives on their throats had been fresh and sharp enough to want to watch from a safe distance. This was nothing extraordinary. Jaskier didn’t have to follow him everywhere. It was fine. More than fine, when it meant that Jaskier was safely tucked away at an inn, performing and laughing and being happy. It was all Geralt could ask for. 

But even this slipped through Geralt’s fingers without him noticing, too fast to close his hand and hold onto.

More and more often, Jaskier would rather sit and watch some townsperson with a fiddle or a cheap lute. He would smile when his own songs were sung, but rarely was he the one performing. He would hum along, but he wouldn’t jump up and dance anymore. He would still spin fantastical stories that had Geralt shake his head fondly, but seldom did Jaskier write melodies for them. 

Geralt had fought monsters that would frighten the most hardened of men. He had stared death in its cold eyes more times than he could count. But never had his heart sunk with a weight as it did when he asked Jaskier why he wasn’t performing anymore. 

Jaskier laughed, leaning into Geralt and for a moment, Geralt could pretend he had only imagined the shift in Jaskier. 

“As loathe as I am to admit it, but she is better than me,” Jaskier said, gesturing to the young woman who was giving a soaring rendition of one of Jaskier’s earlier works. 

Geralt stared at him, unable to form words. Never had Jaskier listened to others sing his songs without at least three points of criticism. There were no better bards than Jaskier, everyone knew that. No one knew it better than Jaskier himself. 

But at Geralt’s grunt of disagreement, Jaskier only tilted his head and patted his hand. “Don’t look at me like that, my dearest. If I were a few years younger, she would not stand a chance against me. But as it is, her fingers are quicker than mine. Her feet nimbler in a dance and she has a face people enjoy looking at.”

Geralt knitted his brows, taking Jaskier in as though seeing him for the first time. “Why would people not want to look at you?”

Jaskier was beautiful. Always has been. Even more so now, that Jaskier threw his head back laughing as though Geralt had made a joke. Geralt had been serious. 

“I can’t imagine not enjoying looking at you,” Geralt tried again. It was a clumsy attempt at a compliment and despite the sincerity of the words it sounded stilted. But Jaskier’s smile softened and he gently reached for Geralt’s hand. 

“I know, dear. But you love me.” 

Geralt nodded, the lump in his throat dissipating. It was a relief – it always was – that Jaskier understood his sparse words for what they were supposed to mean. 

Jaskier sighed and turned his head once more towards the would-be bard belting his ballads. “But you can’t deny I have changed. Look at me! My hair is almost completely grey now!” 

Something pricked at Geralt’s heart. Jaskier used to be so excited about the grey streaks in his hair. “We are going to match now!” Jaskier used to say with a radiant smile, accompanied by a quick kiss that was broken when they both smiled into it. Geralt would run his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, plant kisses on it and put flowers behind Jaskier’s ear. Jaskier would smile and say the colours contrasted beautifully with the grey.

“Don’t tell Yennefer, but I know I can’t hide the crow’s feet any longer,” Jaskier continued, as though the lines weren’t witnesses of years spent smiling until his eyes crinkled. “I am not like I used to be.”

“Your eyes are still blue.” 

Jaskier was quiet for a moment, just looking at Geralt, thinking, searching. “Most people’s eyes become blue when they get old.” There was something in his smile that seemed not quite wrong, but…wistful. “Your eyes will stay golden. Always young.”

“I am older than you.” 

Instead of answering, Jaskier turned back to the girl who was just striking up some sea shanty. Humming along, Jaskier closed his eyes and leaned against Geralt, who was unsure what else to say. What _was_ there to say? This didn’t feel like banter or teasing. This felt heavy. Laced with hidden meaning that Geralt was unable to understand. 

They didn’t talk about it anymore. Days passed by. Jaskier got to explore the town and Geralt finished the contract, helping some fishermen with their siren-problem. It was time to move on. 

They didn’t. 

\--

“What is this place to you?” Geralt asked. 

When Jaskier had asked Geralt to go to the coast with him on that mountain it had sounded like a throw away thought. Years and years had passed and Jaskier hadn’t mentioned the sea again. Not until he had asked Geralt about it a few weeks ago and Geralt had begun to realise that there was something more to it. 

Something in Jaskier’s tone had made it seem like it was the most important thing to him and yet, he had not been scared of rejection. Instead, Jaskier had looked at Geralt like he was convinced that this time Geralt would come with him without hesitation. Geralt’s heart had stuttered. Despite how it had gone before, Jaskier still had trust in him, as he had had the first day they had met, when the then-young bard had had no doubt that Geralt would get them out of the elves’ captivity alive. 

Geralt hadn’t been convinced he deserved such utter trust back at the edge of the world. Now, standing next to Jaskier at the edge of the sea, he would do anything in his power to make sure he did.

“Oakwood?” Jaskier lifted his eyebrows and thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.” He trailed off, letting his eyes drift to where the sea gently kissed the land, as he had once called it. “But the coast reminds me of my time in Oxenfurt. It was always calming to me; safe. It is different here, though.” He blinked, as though trying to shield his eyes from the salty breeze. There was the slightest hint of hesitation in his words. “Oakwood is nothing to me yet, but I hope it could become home.”

“Home?” Geralt wasn’t sure what that emotion was that coloured his voice unbidden. It might be hope. Whatever it was, it was battling with a well-known urgency not to linger, to keep moving. Go to the next town. Find the next contract. The world might still need you. 

“I won’t force you to stay with me, of course,” Jaskier said quickly, as if having read Geralt’s thought. As if he had spent most of his life getting to know Geralt and being able to read him as easily as a children’s book. “I know you are not one to stay in one place for too long.” A seabird’s cry interrupted Jaskier and he took a moment to watch it land on a dry patch of sand. “I wouldn’t keep you here. I am not that selfish to hide the world from you.” He could never be. Jaskier _was_ his world. His home. “But … you could be like a bird sitting down on a branch after a long flight to rest their weary wings, so when it’s time to keep on flying, they are rested for a new adventure.”

“And what about you?”

“You want me to continue with the bad metaphors?” Jaskier let out a bemused laugh. “Fine. I am a bird flying south for the winter. I know that I won’t be able to soar through the sky as I used to any longer, but I have found my south.” 

Geralt scowled. He had spent enough time with Jaskier to know that it was easier for him to speak in metaphors and painted words. It didn’t make it any easier for him to understand. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I meant, won’t you be alone if I ever go on a hunt again? I don’t have to do that. I can change with you.” 

“Never change.” The words were almost whispered, but they held an unknown urgency. “Never for me.”

“For you, it would be worth it. I could stay with you. I don’t have to leave. This could become _our_ home.”

“That would be beautiful.” A dreamy look settled on Jaskier’s face, smoothing the creases between his brows and giving him back his years. “We could sit together in front of a small cottage and watch the sunset. We could stroll along the shore every day and we could collect shells to decorate our home.”

Geralt’s heart clenched. It was a beautiful dream. It was a life Jaskier deserved. “I could give this to you.” He reached out, took Jaskier’s hand in his. “We could have this.”

Jaskier was quiet and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat, his words and thoughts coming faster than he could control, desperate to give this dream a shape he could hold onto. “You always told me that I should retire eventually. So why not now? Why not with you?”

“Because now I understand why you always said you wouldn’t do it.” A smile stretched Jaskier’s lips and it looked so loving, so proud. “It’s not about the monsters or some witcher code that’s been forced onto you. _That_ I would ask you to give up in a heartbeat. But retiring would mean the same thing for you that it does for me. My songs used to make people happy. _I_ used to make people happy. And you- “ Jaskier turned fully to face Geralt, resting his free hand on his cheek. A thumb brushed against the corner of his lips. “You are helping people. With everything you do, you help people. That is who you are and I can’t take away that from you. Stay with me, love, for as long as you can. But when you grow restless and need to go, promise me you’ll do that.” 

“What about you?” Geralt repeated, leaning into the touch, pressing a soft kiss against the fingers resting against his lips. “You always said there were more places you wanted to see. It doesn’t have to end here. We don’t have to go on hunts together, but I could show you the blossoming hills of Dol Blathanna in spring or … or if you wanted to go to more festivals we could or –“

Jaskier’s hand squeezing his silenced him. “Geralt.” It sounded to tender. So undeservedly grateful. “You showed me more of the world than I had ever been able to see on my own.” A laugh escaped Jaskier. “And I believe I took you to more festivals than you would have seen in a lifetime if it wasn’t for me.”

“I didn’t mind. I would go to one again. With you. We still haven’t seen the harvest festivities of Corvo Bianco.” 

Jaskier didn’t answer. Instead his eyes dropped to their joined hands. 

“Jaskier?”

“You’ll have to tell me about the festival if you ever go there,” Jaskier said quietly. “But I’m afraid I can’t come with you anymore.” His lips twitched upwards in a teasing smile. “You might flatter me, saying I am still beautiful –“

“You are.”

“But I am no fool. I am getting old.”

“You can be both.”

“Naturally.” Jaskier’s lips twitched and he bumped Geralt with his shoulder playfully. “But that doesn’t change the fact that travelling has become exhausting. I can’t ride long distances and I definitely can’t walk for hours on end.” With a teasing wink he added “Even if I were to follow your oh so wise advice and buy some proper walking boots.” 

“Then we will find other places to visit,” Geralt said softly. “I am sure there must be beautiful spots near-by.” 

“I’d love that.” Jaskier’s eyes shone as he lifted their hands to press a kiss against Geralt’s knuckles. “We have time to find them all.” 

They had time. Not as much as Geralt wanted, but more than he thought they did when they had started travelling together. It has already been decades more than he had thought would be granted to him. Every moment with Jaskier was something precious and he would make sure that Jaskier knew. 

Something had changed. Witchers didn’t plan their lives. There was nothing to plan. They went out into the world, they slayed monsters, they hoped to get coin. Nothing more to it. But here Geralt was, a witcher standing at the sea, making whispered plans of settling down with his beloved. 

When Geralt would inevitably ride off to follow the path for a while and bring back stories for Jaskier, he would do so alone, as witchers were meant to be. No, not quite. Witchers were meant to be lonely. And that, Geralt would never be. He hadn’t been for a long time. How could he be lonely when he knew that someone was out there, waiting for him to return? How could he ever feel truly alone, when the man he loved would always be there with open arms and a bright smile, welcoming him home?

A wave crashed against the shore, spooking the seagull which had hacked at the sand, chasing it off into the sky. Geralt felt Jaskier sigh and lean his head against his shoulder. One day, Geralt would go out there into the wide world and the path again. But for now, he would rest. 

Things would continue to change, he knew. Jaskier would continue to change. And he would be there with him, every step along the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates on thursdays. Everything is pre-written so if I ever don't post feel free to yell at me and remind me that time exists

“What are you going to do with it?” Geralt asked, brushing the sand off the sea shell and handing it to Jaskier.

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, as he ran his fingers over it gently.

“Keeping it on a string and hanging it over our bed of course.” He sent a teasing glance at Geralt, daring him to correct his next words. “Shells with holes in them are gifts from merfolk, they say. They are supposed to bring luck to the one who finds it.”

“You better try to find some then.” Geralt huffed, but his lips twitched. “I found that one.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Geralt. My dearest witcher and light of my life. Surely you could spare one tiny shell for me?” He let out a dramatic sigh that sounded so much like it had in his younger years that Geralt could almost believe he would nimbly skip ahead like a deer to underline his faux-despair. “I fear I shall live the rest of my life luck-less. First my eye-sight betrays me and now you do too.”

Geralt snorted, though he couldn’t help but wince at Jaskier’s words. There was no denying it; Jaskier’s eyes, though still blue and deep as the waves lapping gently at their feet, would be unable to find what he was looking for. It was fine though. It was going to be fine. Jaskier’s sight had only dimmed slightly and he had Geralt, who wouldn’t let him stumble through the world unseeing, as long as he had hands to hold and guide Jaskier.

“Maybe I should write a tale about the merfolk to win their favour and be granted their lucky gift? Something romantic perhaps, something about a mermaid falling in love with a human. That is bound to win their favour.”

Geralt chuckled and leaned closer to press his lips against Jaskier’s thinning hair. “Don’t worry, you can have my shell. I don’t need it. I am already lucky.”

“Is that so?” Jaskier said, lifting a brow in teasing, a twinkle in his eye.

Geralt hummed in agreement. He truly was. Luckier than he had any right to be.

“I am still going to write that story,” Jaskier said, as he stuck the shell into a pocket. “You’ll be the first one to hear it.”

“Can’t wait.”

Seemingly, neither could Jaskier. He was already spinning the tale out of thin air, bringing characters to life with his voice and gesticulating wildly as if that would help him grasp the new ideas that were undoubtedly flooding him.

Seeing Jaskier like this spread a warm feeling through Geralt’s chest. It was like coming home.

As they left the cobble stone path behind and Geralt pushed open the door to their cottage, Jaskier trailed off, brimming with excitement and unable to form words. He grabbed Geralt’s hand and almost dragged him inside, though his grip was no stronger than child’s.

Geralt’s heart skipped when Jaskier halted to let his eyes roam around the room in wonder. He had been in the tavern, making friends with the strangers that would soon become their neighbours, while Geralt had made sure that from this day on, they would have a place that was just their own instead of a room in an inn.

“Is this truly it, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, awe stealing his breath.

Geralt nodded. “If you want it to be.”

The salty scent of tears mixed with the one of the ocean. For a brief moment, Geralt tensed, before Jaskier turned back to him with glistening eyes and a smile as bright as only Jaskier’s could ever be.

“I do. Geralt, this is perfect.” He let go of Geralt’s hand to run it over the furniture the former owner had left them, letting his feet carry him to the bedroom.

Geralt’s throat tightened, as he followed him and let his eyes fall on the bed. They had shared beds at rundown inns, in palaces that Jaskier had been invited to. They had shared bedrolls under the starry night-sky and Geralt had held Jaskier in his arms in his room at Kaer Morhen. Each moment unspeakably precious yet passing. Now, for the first time in his life they had what no witcher before him had dared even fantasise about.

“This is our home,” Geralt said hoarsely, unable to hide the emotion. He didn’t need to. Not around Jaskier. Never around Jaskier.

“Not quite.” Jaskier said. He ignored Geralt’s frown and went over to the bag Geralt had dropped off when he had bought the cottage. Geralt watched bemusedly as Jaskier rummaged through it, until he finally found what he was looking for with a triumphant “Aha!”, followed by a myriad of frustrated noises until finally – maybe by pure luck? – Jaskier managed to succeed in pulling the threat through the hole in the sea shell.

Geralt felt his expression melt into a tiny smile that couldn’t contain all that he felt, when Jaskier stood back up and hung the good luck charm over their bed.

“ _Now_ it’s home,” he said and for all of Jaskier’s embellished truths and stories filled with pretty lies, there was not a part of Geralt that didn’t believe him. 

Geralt stepped closer, encircled Jaskier with his arms from behind and rested his chin on his shoulder as they both looked at the shell.

“I am sure it will make you very lucky,” he mumbled into Jaskier’s hair.

“ _Us_ , dearest.” Jaskier laid a hand on Geralt’s and stroked it lovingly. “I was lucky when I found you in Posada. My blessing and your curse.” He let out a breathy laugh when Geralt grunted in disagreement. Though Geralt couldn’t see Jaskier’s face, he could hear the smile in his voice when he said “This, however, this is _ours_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hi on tumblr @flowercrown-bard


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Cymothoe! Without them this fic would never have existed. It was all meant to be a oneshot. I was happy with it being a one shot.  
> And then this wonderful person left a comment saying "I would read absolutely anything you wrote in this world of domesticity and devotion, with its undercurrent of dread."  
> Now I don't know if I managed to capture that feeling again, but that comment wouldn't leave my mind for months until I finally gave up and succumbed to the power of alliteration and validation. So, thank you Cymothoe for giving me a new story idea to fixate on for weeks!

It should have been strange. Sitting in a tavern simply because he wanted to and not because he needed to look for the next contract. It should be strange, unsettling even. It hadn’t been for a long time. Though it took weeks getting used to, Geralt came here with Jaskier time and time again for the sole reason of enjoying themselves as if it was the most normal thing to do. As if their whole time together hadn't defied such a thing as normalcy.

It should have been strange. A witcher and a bard – travelling no more, but collecting sea shells on their window sills, taking walks along the shore, hand in hand and without the pressure of knowing they’d have to leave soon, going to taverns like normal people did. Geralt was never going to be normal and as far as he was concerned, Jaskier was as far from ordinary as it could get.

And yet. There was something beautiful, something soft in the simplicity of the life they were building here.

There was something so fiercely _right_ about the way people referred to Geralt as “that lovely man’s beloved” instead of as a witcher.

Still, Geralt couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over the patrons, couldn’t keep himself from straining his ears. Even Jaskier’s arm around his waist wasn’t enough to counter decades of training and drilling instincts into him. As much as Geralt wanted to only feel Jaskier next to him, to only hear his voice, whispering sweet nothings that were everything to him into his ear, he couldn’t help but pick up what he was trained to hear amidst the laughter of the crowd.

“It’s true, there is no way for me to bring my wares over to Blackrocks.” The voice was relatively new in town. A travelling merchant, most likely. Though he forced his words to sound frustrated rather than scared, the hidden emotion was obvious to Geralt. Too often had he met people desperate to hide their fear. How strange it was that these kinds of voices were no longer directed at him “Ol’ Olek – may his soul find rest in Melitele’s amble bosom – tried weeks ago and I’m not stupid enough to follow in his steps. Bandits and the occasional arsehole tollkeeper I can handle. But a griffin? I’d rather sit on a scorpion bare-arsed than coming across one of those.”

Immediately, Geralt tensed, but willed himself to remain seated. Years of being low on coin and desperate for any contract he could get were hard to shake off. He forced himself to relax. He didn’t need a contract. He didn’t. His place was with Jaskier. He didn’t need to go. He couldn’t do that to Jaskier, to the tentative life and this strangely beautiful new normal they might find for themselves if only Geralt stayed here and allowed for such a thing to happen.

“Are you alright, love?”

Geralt closed his eyes when Jaskier’s concerned voice interrupted his desperate thoughts. As it should. Jaskier was what mattered most. He should always be at the forefront of Geralt’s mind. Not some merchant whose livelihood was threatened because of a monster that Geralt was trained to slay.

Geralt managed a grunt, not confirmation, merely acknowledgement of Jaskier’s words.

“Oh, dearest.” Jaskier twisted in his arms to face him, laying one hand on Geralt’s cheek and softly guiding him to look at Jaskier. “Ah,” he said after a moment, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I know that face.”

Geralt let out a long breath, surrendering to his fate as Jaskier continued to study him as if he were a child’s poem, easy to read and easier yet to analyse.

“That is the face you make when you tell me ‘no’ before I even told you what I want.”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Because most of the time I already know what you want.”

“Which is?” Jaskier lifted his chin in playful defiance.

“To come with me on a hunt.”

Jaskier laughed, freely and loudly and oh so beautifully. “Is there a hunt to accompany you on?” He asked as though they hadn’t talked about this before. As though Jaskier’s admission that he wouldn’t be able to go on hunts with Geralt any more hadn’t already broken his heart. As though the promise of a quiet life together hadn’t mended it faster than any spell had been able to heal his wounds before.

“No. There isn’t one.”

Jaskier cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. A few heartbeats passed and Geralt held his breath praying that Jaskier wouldn’t see, that he wouldn’t know –

“Geralt,” he finally said in a tone that suggested Geralt was a student who had been caught sneaking alcohol into the classroom without sharing it with the teacher. “May I remind you of how often I have seen you react to mentions of monsters near-by? The fact that I couldn’t hear whoever was talking doesn’t change a thing – it never has, whether it’s me being old or you having superhuman hearing. I know you.” His thumb brushed over Geralt’s cheek and his tone became fond once more. “So, what is it?”

“Griffin.” Geralt forced his eyes to let Jaskier in, needing him to understand. “I am not going.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a new one. Isn’t it normally ‘ _you_ are not going’?”

“What we have isn’t normal.” It was so much better. It was too precious and fragile to worth risking.

Jaskier sighed, his hand falling from Geralt’s face and dropping down to his chest where it came to rest on his heart.

“No, it’s not,” Jaskier said and undoubtedly he could feel the skip in Geralt’s chest as the relief of Jaskier’s agreement seeped through him. “But that doesn’t mean you have to give up your old life for me completely.” A sly smile stole onto Jaskier’s face and there was something in his eyes that Geralt couldn’t begin to name. “My eyes might not be the best and whatnot, but I assure you my mind and memory are still sharp as ever. You might pretend it didn’t happen, but I very vividly remember having this talk before.”

Geralt’s shoulders sagged. “I know.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, filled with a heart-shattering amount of fondness. “We both know you can’t just sit around doing nothing forever. Spending every day with you being idle was wonderful, but it is not who you are.”

“It’s who I could be.”

Jaskier didn’t answer. His look, tilted head and eyes so knowing said more than even a poet could express with words. Geralt might be making that face he always made when he was going to deny Jaskier his request – his _scary face_ , as Jaskier so fondly and teasingly called it - but Jaskier had this one expression, the one he would always use shortly before Geralt would relent and grant Jaskier his wish. Who was he to deny a bard in need of inspiration to come with him? And who was he to deny the man he loved and who so desperately needed to feel like he didn’t stop Geralt from being himself to give him the freedom to leave him?

“I will come back to you,” Geralt said and the smile Jaskier gifted him was almost worth the clenching of his heart at the thought of leaving him behind, however briefly.

“Of course you will.”

“Blackrocks isn’t far. Only four days on horseback. Three if I’m fast.”

“Don’t be.” There was an inexplicable strain to Jaskier’s word, an edge that didn’t cut, as his hand gripped Geralt’s shirt tighter. “Don’t be fast. Don’t rush. Don’t let the world pass by in a flurry. Take your time.”

“I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“And I don’t want you to miss out on all the details.” His tone was back to teasing, but the unknown weight was still there. An unspoken need that Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever be allowed to understand. “You _do_ know that I will pester you for the grand tale of your adventure, don’t you?”

Geralt’s mouth quirked up involuntarily. “Naturally.”

Jaskier pointed a finger at him. “I am being serious about the details. Don’t just tell me about the griffin. I need to know about how the people you helped looked at you when they realised that they are safe now. I need you to stop and notice the different shades of the sky at dawn and the smell of the wildflowers. Try to find strange shapes in the clouds for me, will you? Promise me, you will see all of that.”

Something in Geralt’s throat grew tight. He gently took Jaskier’s hand that was still pointing at him and held it close. “You’d be far better at describing those things.”

“I don’t need you to describe them like a poet would. Just… see them. Can you do that for me?” Such a desperation coloured his voice that Geralt vowed to himself he would do anything he could to banish from Jaskier’s life.

“I can.” His voice, barely a whisper grew stronger. “I will.”

How could he not? To Jaskier, the world was so big and bright and beautiful. Geralt would not stand between Jaskier and this beauty that he deserved to breathe in with every inhale and feel with every heartbeat. Jaskier might be unable to leave, confided to the coast like the mermaid in his story was to the sea. Every step father from home would pain him, but staying in his confide unable to know what he was missing would hurt his soul just as much. Geralt would not subject him to this fate. He would do his best to make Jaskier see the world, even if it meant learning how to paint pictures with words instead of showing it to him first hand.

He lifted Jaskier’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against his fingers, a silent vow.

Jaskier understood. He always did. His eyes brightened and his smile grew warmer. The look he gifted Geralt with was so tender it almost hurt and Geralt knew what he had started to learn years ago; that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to see that look on Jaskier’s face again.

Jaskier needed him to be himself and do what he did. Geralt still needed to help people. And Jaskier still needed stories. almost as much as he needed arms to hold him close and whispers telling him that he was loved and lovable no matter what, no matter how old he got or how able he was to accompany Geralt. And Geralt was going to do his best to give all of that to Jaskier.

He gently gave Jaskier’s fingers a squeeze and stood up to talk to the merchant. 

* * *

“The sunrise was more pink on the third day than on any other day. It was… the colour looked like that one doublet of yours. The one you wore on midsummer in White Orchard.” The words were awkward and nowhere close to the vivid descriptions Jaskier no doubt would have found, but Jaskier’s eager eyes were worth it. The familiar scratching of a quill on parchment accompanied Geralt’s words, lulling him into a sense of comfort. “When I told the people I had slain the griffin, the alderman shook my hand and thanked me telling me that I would always be welcome back in Blackrocks, one woman cried and the merchant looked like Bieberfeld did when he had realised that Dudu actually knew what he was doing with his money.”

A grin spread across Jaskier’s face at the memory. “Who would have thought. You do know how to tell a story after all.”

“I am sure you will find better words for it when you make it into a song.”

Jaskier tilted his head and gave his notes a long look, before setting his eyes back on Geralt. “No. I think I quite like the words as they are.”

He lay the quill to the side. Ink-stained fingers of parchment-skinned hands found Geralt’s hand. “Thank you, love.”

Warmth blossomed in Geralt’s chest as he looked at their intertwined fingers. Maybe this was good enough. Maybe life could continue to be like this. Maybe it could be that simple.

* * *

Against all odds, against all the rocks destiny was known to throw in his way, it truly was that simple. Despite everything, Geralt was allowed to have this.

He continued to bring Jaskier stories and Jaskier in turn would tell him what he had done while Geralt had been away. Somehow he managed to make the most mundane things sound like the biggest adventure. The knowledge that this was the life that they had, that when he returned from his hunts, they could experience these ordinary, domestic adventures together, made Geralt’s heart swell in his chest.

He brought Jaskier descriptions of the sky and Jaskier told him about the unruly sea.

When Geralt finally made true on his promise to go to the harvest festival in Corvo Bianco, he brought Jaskier a bottle of wine and a summer jacket and Jaskier in turn gifted him with the sight of immediately donning the garment and grinning at him with a flush that the alcohol was only partly to blame for.

“What do you think?” Jaskier asked, twirling around as much as his joints allowed him to.

_I think I never want to give up what we have here. I think you are gifting me with the best life._ “You look good.”

“Good?” Jaskier huffed. “Come on, Geralt. I taught you better than that. You were doing so well describing the world to me.”

Geralt sighed, but it held no annoyance. “I think…you look like you could make the flowers jealous.”

Jaskier threw his head back laughing and if Geralt were a poet, he would have thought that somewhere out there, a rose was seething with envy that she would never be able to give a lover the same indescribable feeling that Jaskier’s laugh gave Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "in a tone that suggested Geralt was a student who had been caught sneaking alcohol into the classroom without sharing it with the teacher." Do you ever write a line that is so stupid that you can't bring yourself to change it? I sure do. It hurts my heart to leave this disaster of a comparison in there but it would have hurt me even more to get rid of that tomfoolery
> 
> and oh may the muses of writing be praised! I finally found out how to do that neat seperation line thingy

**Author's Note:**

> I was seriously struggling with writing this and literally the only reason I posted this was out of spite because I wouldn't let my writer's block win. So, um, I would really appreciate if you could leave a comment. Three words or less ;)


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